Cherry Cough Syrup
by Silverbellsb
Summary: Buttercup finds Butch, alone and sick, in the rain. Who is she to leave him without giving him proper treatment? However, Butch absolutely has no idea why Buttercup is helping him. Get a clue, Butch! Do you really think she's as cold as she seems?
1. Rainy Days Suck

It wasn't Buttercup's fault she was out in the rain. Oh, sure, there were better things to do at home – like working on that essay for English – instead of risking pneumonia and hypothermia and whatnot to be out walking through the freezing sheets of water from the enormous clouds above.

But Buttercup, being Buttercup, found school to be dry and hopelessly dull. Besides, she was the adventurous type. Still, after about ten minutes of sloshing through icy, ankle-deep puddles, she began to question the wisdom of being outside. Nobody else was out on the streets of Townsville, not even the vagrants who often hid in alleys and cat burglars who crouched on fire escapes of the tallest skyscrapers.

She shrugged this off and made a beeline for the neighborhoods close to her own street. What was the point of going home, anyway? All that waited in that quiet little house was a truckload of homework (stupid ninth-grade teachers) and a bunch of empty rooms.

Blossom, superbrain, was the head of the local debate club and was now somewhere competing in Washington D.C. with other fourteen-year-olds in some kind of group debating competition. She wouldn't be back till the end of next week. Apparently, she was to argue with other kids for two weeks. It all sounded like great fun to Buttercup, until Blossom had her listen to the lists of arguments she had prepared. Bo-ring.

Bubbles, fashionista, was also travelling. She had unexpectedly been invited to tag along with her best friend, Robin Schneider, to visit Belize. Robin's parents were archeologists specializing in ancient South American civilizations. That meant long, hot hours of watching adults dig up pots and pans. Buttercup refused to go, as well. She had only three weeks of summer vacation to enjoy the air without listening to her blonde sister's endless chatter.

She had hoped to visit sports camp, but it had closed at the last second, and the Professor had a business trip to Chicago. He'd left earlier that morning. He promised to be back in a few days, though he was hesitant to leave brash and unpredictable Buttercup behind.

"Professor, I'm fourteen and I've got superpowers," Buttercup had said, rolling her eyes. "What could possibly happen to me?"

So here she was. Alone, drenched, and at risk of getting hypothermia. She sighed, adjusted her thin raincoat, and headed toward Main Street. Not that she expected anyone to be there. After all, it was too cold to be out (except for her).

So it came as a great surprise when she heard someone coughing near the front steps of the library. She froze, and her emerald green eyes flashed. Her gaze shifted to the library and its surrounding. Then she saw it.

At first she thought it was a lump of discarded trash, or a stray dog. But when the thing raised its head, she realized what it was. A boy about her age was curled up into a ball on the sodden steps, shivering. Buttercup slowly walked up to him to see what kind of moron would be out lying around in this weather.

To her shock, it was none other than her stupid counterpart, Butch Jojo. With his parted black bangs, green eyes, and stubborn attitude, he was in Buttercup's eyes the most mindless jerk on the face of the earth.

Few could mistake Butch for Buttercup. He was, after all, a boy, and he had a surly disposition that kept most at a distance. But now, he was curled up, shivering, and coughing.

"What is wrong with him?" Buttercup thought angrily. She gave him a light kick.

He shifted away, but didn't look up. "I'm not doing anything bad," he muttered, his voice all scratchy and hoarse. "Go away."

Buttercup crouched down. "Using public property as your personal I.C. Unit is bad, not to mention stupid," she snapped. "What are you doing out here?"

He looked up, and Buttercup saw that he was flushed. "Sick," he mumbled. "Brick and Boomer kicked me out."

"Serves you right," she said without missing a beat.

"That's what they said."

He looked so tired and weak. She couldn't help but feel sorry for him. Buttercup Utonium might have been tough, harsh, hotheaded, and short-tempered, but she wasn't heartless. She grabbed Butch's arm and pulled him to his feet. He almost fell over when he began coughing again.

"Let go."

She glared at him. "Do you want to die?"

"I just-"

"Then come with me." She seized him and began to drag him down the street, muttering under her breath.

"Where are we going?" Butch rubbed his watery eyes with a hand, too sick to protest.

Buttercup looked at him and rolled her eyes. "Do you really think I'm supposed to just walk by when you're about to catch your death of a cold? We're going to my house. And you'd better not make a scene, or you'll be sorry."

She sounded serious. He obeyed.


	2. Cough, cough

**Oh. My. Gosh.**

**THANK YOU! THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR YOUR REVIEWS! They made me really happy. You're all the best. I've decided that from this point onward, this story will be dedicated to my first ten reviewers – She-Pirates-Kick-BUTT, Powerpuffz Z, ppgrulz123, Mew Pancake, joker rocks ma socks, FKS, Jade Tyaga, Powerpuff Buttercup (humph, maybe not you- jk) greenluvr14, and Flowerpuff. **

**Okay, now that that's been said, I have some news : as I'm not one to write romance as you usually see it, you probably won't see too much fluff or mush. I'm sorry, I just can't write it, no matter how much I try. But there WILL be some romance! I promise! Now please keep reading 'cause you're all the best. And please keep reviewing! I'll update as soon as I can.**

It went unspoken that Buttercup was no doctor. She'd ditched health class three weeks already this year, and needless to say was a little rusty on caring for sick people. She did know, however, that the first thing to do when you're sick is take your temperature. She rooted around in the medicine cabinet above the sink for the thermometer, and in the process knocked several bottles into the washbin. Tylenol. NyQuil. Motrin. Cough syrup.

She picked up the fourth bottle and inspected it. "Cough Syrup," stated the label. She scanned it until she came to the smaller print – "For ages thirteen and up, two capfuls."

Huh, she thought. Butch certainly had a bad cough. She pocketed the bottle, washed the thermometer, and hurrried out of the bathroom to the guestroom, which was where she'd left Butch.

He was busily, if not grumpily, blasting himself with the hairdryer and wearing the pair of jeans her friend Mitch had lent her along with a baggy green hoodie. It was a girls' hoodie, but it was a bit hard to tell, seeing as it was rather plain and shapeless.

"You finished yet?" Buttercup asked, unplugging the hairdryer even as she spoke. "You've been using this thing for ages."

He coughed into his hand before replying. "It's way too hot in here."

She switched on the fan. "Yeah, whatever. Now lie down on the bed, I've got some stuff to do."

Butch flopped down on the bed and pulled the covered over his face. Buttercup pulled it off. Before he could protest, she she shoved the thermometer into his mouth so quickly he nearly choked on it.

"What the- hey!" Butch sputtered.

Buttercup caught the thermometer before it hit the floor. "Gosh, do I have to explain everything to you? I'm trying to take your temperature for Goodness' sake. Now stick out your tongue," she commanded.

He blew her a raspberry, and she managed to get the thermometer in his mouth.

"Make sure it doesn't fall out," she added as she left the room.

Buttercup liked to snoop in her sisters' rooms, so she knew where everything was – where Blossom's old school report cards and photo albums were (in her shirts drawer, under the tank tops) and where Bubbles hid her diary (stuffed beneath her mattress). She had no trouble at all finding Bubbles's babysitter's handbook. She flipped to the glossary.

"Let's see, S for sick…. No, C for cough…." Buttercup pored over the book, but it mostly droned on about how to take care of children under ten, not impossible boy teenagers. She wanted to make sure Butch had proper care so the Professor didn't come home to find her with a kid in need of hospital treatment. Or maybe she'd kill him by mistake and have to dig a grave.

Buttercup shook her head, smiling to herself as she closed the book. The thought of killing Butch by accident was surprisingly funny to her.

She heard the faint beeping of the thermometer from down the hall and raced back to the guestroom before Butch could turn it off.

"Hmm, your temperature is one hundred and one degrees – you've got a fever," she announced, handing him a cup of water.

"So?" he shot back before draining the cup.

"So… you're gonna take medicine!" she said, flashing him a wicked grin.

He turned pale. "Medinice? Tell me you're joking."

Now Buttercup was laughing so hard she could barely breathe. Oh, the look on his face!

"You…" Laughter. "Are such a… such a…" Gasping, followed by laughter. "Coward! Afraid of…" Snickering. "A little cough syrup…" More laughter. "Nobody's made me laugh…" Chortling. "That hard…" _Get a grip, BC! _"In months!"

She flopped down, pounding the bed with her fist, laughing as if she were being tickled nonstop.

"Oh, shut up," Butch grumbled. But he had a ghost of a smile on his face.

Her laughter slowly draining away, Buttercup sat up and pulled the cough syrup bottle for the pocket of her green dress. She poured the desired amount of the thick red liquid into the cap and handed it to her counterpart.

"Here, drink up," she said. "It's cherry flavored, just so you know."

He peered at the bottle cap and its contents. "Looks like blood."

"Ugh. Just drink it. Pretend you're a vampire or whatever."

Butch held the medicine up to the light. "How do I know it's not poison?"

"Like mercury?" she snorted. "Where the heck would I get poison? And even if it were poison, I'd give it to you in lemonade or something. I don't want you dying on the clean sheets. Blossom just washed them."

"Oh well, heads up." Butch made a face before gulping down the cough syrup in one gulp. "BLECH! UGH! GROSS!" He fell over, hacking and coughing.

Buttercup groaned. "Will you cut that out?" she demanded before propping him back up on the bed. "Sheesh, you sound like a crazed monkey."

Butch sat up and licked the bottle cap clean. "Mmm, this cough syrup is good. You should try some, really!"

"You're not fooling me one bit, you jerk," Buttercup said.

Butch slid under the covers. "Hey, get the lights," he said in a bossy tone. "I'm going to sleep for a bit."

"Hope you have a nightmare," she muttered as she switched off the lamp.

"Thanks a lot," he retorted. "Maybe I will."

She rolled her eyes and closed the door with a bang. The babysitting book was lying right where she'd left it, on the couch in the living room. One thing was for sure - if Butch were capable of acting like a three-year-old, she had a lot to read about. These next couple of days were going to be very interesting.


	3. Almost Gentle

**Oh. My. Gawsh. **

**I AM SO SORRY!**

**SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY!**

**SORRY TO THE INFINITE POWER!**

**I'm so evil… I can't tell you how sorry I am! First I had writer's block, then school began pounding me into the dirt, and I've been caught up in ice skating and tennis and Tai kwon do, BUT THAT'S NO EXCUSE! I'M SORRY!**

**I'm just… I'm sorry.**

**I like pie.**

**I love you guys and your reviews. **

**Please comment, and feel free to bash my head in for being such an evil person. **

P*P*G

The first twenty-four hours of Butch's stay in Buttercup's home had been awkward, quiet, and uncomfortable. The tension in the air was thick enough to be sliced with a knife, especially when BC and her counterpart happened to be in the same room. The only reason she visited 'his' room was because he needed constant doses of medicine. Sometimes, his coughing became less violent, but more often it remained the same, something that made Buttercup nervous (though she wouldn't admit it). She was the first to admit she knew little on heath care, but she had enough common to realize that coughing usually goes away soon after you take medicine. It bounces back sometimes, but at least it goes away. The opposite was true in Butch's case.

To mask her worries, Buttercup darted into the room, forced Butch to take his cough syrup, and scurried away. Just because she was showing hospitality didn't mean she had to be _nice_. Blossom would've found some flaw in her sister's reasoning, so thank heaven Blossom was not home. As long as Buttercup had this mentality, she felt better.

On the first full day, though, she almost managed to break her own rules. It was wholly unintentional, unplanned, and unexpected – a very sorry and pathetic excuse in this case. She had been sitting on the bed, glaring at Butch to get him to down his cough syrup.

"Will you stop looking at me like that?" Butch snapped, glowering right back. "I'm not some little kid."

"You sure act like one," Buttercup retorted. "Grow up! Just drink the stupid medicine."

He broke eye contact with her long enough to swallow it, face contorted in a grimace. "If my brothers knew about this…" he broke off.

"Those brothers who left you out in the rain? You think they care about you enough to get you out of here?" Buttercup haughtily slid off the bed, making a beeline for the door. "My sisters may be a pain sometimes, but they're there for me. Always have, always will be. Can't say the same about your _brothers, _can you? Even _they_ think you're a rat." She stopped, her hand on the doorknob. Butch had gone awfully quiet. She turned slowly. He was sitting upright, staring out the window, out at the persistent, pounding rain.

Buttercup stared, shocked. Maybe she'd gone a little too far… the words left a sour taste in her mouth. She let go of the doorknob and made her way back to the bed.

"Hey," she said, making her voice soft, almost gentle. She barely sounded like the brash, independent Buttercup she'd always been while interacting with the Rowdyrough Boys, especially Butch. She sounded, to her surprise, caring. "Why exactly did they do that?"

Butch's eyes snapped back toward her, looking wary. "Doesn't matter," he muttered.

She waited, swinging her legs.

He glanced at her in surprise. "Well…" He stopped short and looked at her again as though he'd never seen her before. "I said, it doesn't matter," he said, blunt as ever.

"Oh… okay," Buttercup said. She was almost disappointed that he hadn't told her, to her utter dismay. Before she walked out the door, though, she turned back and gave him a smile – a slight, but genuine, smile. "Something else," she said.

He waited with narrowed eyes.

"Maybe I think you're a rat, but your bothers might not. You're a rotten person, but not a complete rat."

Butch clearly had not expected this. He opened his mouth, closed it again, and finally came up with, "What do _you_ know about my brothers? What do _you_ know about them kicking me out?" He waited expectantly for an answer.

"I don't," Buttercup admitted. "But love almost never makes sense." She winked and closed the door, smiling to herself at Butch's wide eyes and open mouth, which had made a perfect _O_ of surprise. And as she made her way down to her own bedroom, realization dawned on her, transforming her from caring BC to the same blunt, brash, bold, and one-in-a-million Powerpuff Girl Buttercup.

P*P*G

**Hello again!**

**I, um... hope you're satisfied with this chapter… because I've been so mean to y'all I'm gonna go back on saying you won't get much romance…**

**I'll write it.**

**For you guys, I will.**

**Stay tuned, okay?**

**Love y'all!**

**Peace!**

**-Silverbells **


	4. Tell Me

**HI GUYS!**

**You're all so sweet… sniff… THANK YOU FOR THE REVIEWS! I LOVE YOU ALL! MWA! OMG - over fifty reviews? **

***falls over in a dead faint***

***revives self***

**HOLYSNAP! Thank you, everyone! Let's try to reach the top - the hundred-comments landmark! (This is the part when you scream and start leaving ten billion reviews.) ^.^**

**So please tell me what you think!**

**P*P*G **

The rain refused to let up. It gleefully pounded down, pattering endlessly against rooftops and windows and creating enormous puddles and mud patches everywhere. The portholes in the streets had turned into mini-ponds, and the entire park had been swamped. While everybody in Townsville was completely sick of rain, Buttercup was slightly pleased. Not a single villain had been out due to the forecast, and she hoped it stayed that way. She already had enough on her hands.

She stifled a yawn, tossing her book aside. Here was a new idea for a math problem - summer reading =? The answer would be nothing less than _torture. _The same word, come to think of it, could be used to describe the dilemma Buttercup was currently stuck in.

Did she really need to be taking care of Butch?

She'd been asking herself the same question over and over, trying to find some reason that suited her, something along the lines of "Life's boring without a challenge and Butch is my biggest challenge". But that answer didn't quite fit.

She was frustrated, angry, and tortured, because the only reason she could come up with was, _"Because I care."_

P*P*G

"Tell me about your sisters."

Buttercup stared at him with a sharp glint in her eyes, searching for some sort of humorous note in his face to suggest he were joking. Nothing of the sort. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." Butch sat upright in bed. "Go on. Spill."

Buttercup was, quite frankly, at a loss for words and thoughts. Her mouth opened and closed, but nothing came out. "Why do you want to know?" she demanded finally.

"Curious," he replied tartly.

"Curiosity killed the cat."

"Yeah, I've heard that one."

She glared at him, but he just looked back at her defiantly. Sighing, Buttercup sat on the bed and looked at him sharply. "Fine. I'll spill. But if you interrupt once, or make any faces or weird sounds, it's to the curbside with you."

He just shrugged as he settled back on the pillows, one leg thrown over the other, his arms behind his head. Seeing him acting so _casual _in her house, as though they'd never battled each other, made Buttercup hiss in extreme exasperation. But what could she do?

She opened her mouth to speak, but stopped. "What the heck do you want me to say? Where am I supposed to start?"

He paused for a moment as he thought. "I dunno. From when you were made."

"_Made?" _As though she were nothing more than a lab experiment come to life!

"Yeah. You know. Created."

She shot him so withering a look it was astonishing he didn't perish right there on the spot. "Just shut your mouth, okay? Or else I won't talk."

He shrugged again, but she could tell he had been slightly shaken by her glare. Satisfied, she began. "On the night of June fourteenth, Professor Utonium mixed together in his lab three ingredients – sugar, spice and everything nice. Don't ask me what the _everything nice_ was, 'cause I have no idea what it's supposed to mean," she added. "Anyway, his lab monkey, Jojo, pushed the Professor as he was mixing the stuff together. He accidentally smashed a beaker of Chemical X, and it poured into the concoction. And so," she concluded, "we were born. The Powerpuff Girls – Blossom, Bubbles, and me, Buttercup. We dedicated our lives to fighting crime and the forces of evil after Townsville put us through a whole lot of **[bleep]** that I don't feel like relating to. The end."

Butch frowned. "No, it's not. Not even close."

"What?" Buttercup wasn't used to being contradicted.

"I asked you about your _sisters,"_ he snapped. "Not your life story! What're they like?"

Buttercup was taken aback by this new question, but some little voice inside her whispered soothingly. _It's all right, play normal. It can't hurt. He just wants to know. Maybe he's jealous._

She considered this for a moment. Jealous? The thought had never occurred to her. But maybe… the little voice had a point. She'd been created out of love; she'd been created, cared for, and looked after by Professor Utonium, all out of love. He'd created her and her sisters because he loved little girls, and he'd never let the sisters forget that. But Butch…

Butch had been created out of hate. In a prison. In a toilet. Disgusting, but true. And Mojo Jojo, of all people (or apes) had been their father. Maybe – somewhere deep down – Mojo truly did care about his boys. He never told them that, though. Mojo Jojo was never one to let out "I love you" freely. But he probably did care – Butch and his brothers just never got to truly feel that they were cared about.

And then came the whole war, between Him and Mojo, both claiming that he was the boys' father. How must it feel, Buttercup wondered, to know that if one day you lost your superpowers and all your abilities, you'd be completely worthless to either father?

If that weren't bad enough, there was sibling rivalry between Butch and Brick and Boomer. Oh, Buttercup and her siblings tended to compete as well. But the Rowdyruff rivalry took competition to an extreme, to the point when the boys ganged up on each other, beat each other up, and pretty much hated each other.

The Powerpuffs, on the other hand, were different. Sure, they argued. Yes, they were rivals sometimes. But more often, they were a team. They stuck together through thick and thin, they supported each other, they were one and the same.

Buttercup had a feeling that Butch had never really had any fond memories of his brothers. She was pretty sure those boys had never done any of the things she had done with Blossom and Bubbles – things like pushing each other on swings, gathering shells on the beach, pressing leaves, and dancing through rainstorms. She and her sisters had done so much together – they were sisters, but they were also friends.

Which was more than could be said for Butch and his brothers.

And for the first time, Buttercup felt a strong emotion welling up within her. Love? No. Definitely NO. But it was soft, and sweet, and it made her want to comfort him.

So she scooted over next to him and smiled. "Ok. Fine. My sisters and I have stuck together like glue ever since the day we were created…"

And as she spoke, she detected a faint sparkle in Butch's eyes that shone like a wistful star.

P*P*G

**Ta-da! New chapter! :D**

**So this is when they're picking up, getting to know each other better. Buttercup's starting to open up slowly, too. But I'll have the story pick up –REALLY pick up – in a few chapters! **

**Cheerio!**

**Silverbells**


	5. Deteriorating

**I'M BAAAAAAACK! Did you miss me?**

***crickets chirp***

***sweatdrop***

**Um... sorry for the long wait... gulp... I know you're mad, but – hey, wait! Nice fans... niiice fan-fans... wait! PUT THE MEAT TENDERIZER DOWN THIS INSTANT!**

***runs for cover***

***is cornered***

**Heh... see, I can explain... I had writer's block, and I started two other fanfics, and that's pretty much it for my pathetic excuse.**

***crowd of angry people grumbles***

**BUT! To make up for it, I have a nice, action-packed chapter for you! :D See, I'm FINALLY getting somewhere with this plot!**

**But be warned: from this point onward, chapters will be getting slightly darker.**

**Okay, see you on the flip side!**

***AKSHUNN* **

Buttercup launched the ball halfway across the court. It made a pathetic arc in the air before splatting to the asphalt and half bouncing, half rolling out into the street. She sighed in frustration and chased it out into the light drizzle before it rolled into the gutter.

Mitch Michelson watched her punt the ball back into the alley. It bounced crazily in all directions before hitting the hoop with Powerpuff-strength force and crumpling the metal pole until it sagged towards the ground. "Guess we won't be playing anymore," he said. The basketball, now a little deflated, rolled to his feet.

"Off day," Buttercup muttered, scuffing her sneakers and prying a chunk of broken concrete out of the ground. She kicked that too, but with not as much force. It bounced into the already maimed hoop, damaging it further. She winced. "Sorry."

"No big," said Mitch. He watched her pace in frustration around the alley. The crumbling asphalt had grass growing in clumps between the cracks, and the drab gray buildings that closed it off from three sides were all abandoned. Some said that they were haunted by their old dead manager, who jumped off the building on the right into the alley when all three of his businesses plummeted drastically. Overall, it was not your ideal basketball court. Buttercup and Mitch, however, were among the handful of kids who hung around the abandoned lot to prove they weren't wimps, or to just slouch around looking cool, or to acclaim bragging rights. Buttercup was here to elevate her hoop-shooting rank. Unfortunately, her game had dropped by about ninety percent.

Part of her problem was the fact that there hadn't been any crime in weeks, which was stupid. Without any villains loose in the streets, she had no means of getting rid of her frustration. Short of beating up random dudes on the street, that is. And then there was the cause of her frustration. Butch had been languishing in her house for a few days now, and despite his daily doses of cherry cough syrup, his condition wasn't getting any better. He talked to her, but only a little. He took medicine, but only when it was forced into him. He drove her nuts when he spoke, but when he was silent her frustration increased. The whole thing made her head hurt.

"So, game over?" Mitch asked.

"Sure." Buttercup kept pacing; Mitch watched her.

"What's up?" he said. She could tell him anything, that was how they always were. Only this time, she didn't even know how to put her problem into words.

"Nothing," she lied. "I gotta go now. See ya." She trudged out into the drizzling atmosphere and waited at the light, even though there were no cars in sight.

"I'll go with you," Mitch offered, spinning the basketball on one finger.

"Nah, I'm good." Buttercup briskly crossed the street.

"Why not?"

"You always have to know everything?" Worries lumped together in her stomach. He couldn't know about Butch. He couldn't. "Besides, I'm not really supposed to have visitors over when nobody else is at home." This was only the half-truth; Utonium residence rules allowed close-close-close friends to visit, even if nobody else was around. Mitch was definitely a close-close-close friend, only he didn't need to know that.

"Stupid," he said now, falling in place beside her. "They'll never know. Besides, I've been coming over for ages. Nobody's gonna care."

"Still." They rounded a corner and stopped to let a line of rain-slicked cars barrel by. An icy spray of water drenched them both from head to toe.

"How about you come over to my place?" Mitch asked. "We could try to beat Level 14 on that game my brother got."

"Nah. Maybe later." Buttercup darted into the street even as cars continued to roll by. Horns honked; a couple of drivers leaned out their windows and railed at her. She ignored them and hopped onto the sidewalk, Mitch at her heels. She turned on him with scowl. "What're you staring at?"

"You, that's who," he responded with equal attitude. "You look like zombie."

"Do not."

"Do too. You look like you haven't slept in a year. Is that gum in your hair?"

Buttercup tried to dislodge the dried pink wad of bubblegum clinging to her bangs without pulling half her hair out. "That bad, huh?"

"Worse."

She sighed; nothing was left to say. Together the two friends watched the rain stream in tiny rivers across the windshields of passing cars.

"I'm going home," Buttercup muttered at last. "See you later."

Mitch didn't push it. "Later."

He watched the tiny droplets soak into her hair and clothes as she walked across the flooded streets towards home.

P*P*G

Buttercup let herself in quietly and stood in the hall, dripping muddy brown water onto the linoleum floor. Bits of grass floated in the tiny puddle that formed at her feet. Having to desire to clean up at this particular moment, she left the puddle to evaporate on its own and wandered into her room. Without bothering to take off her drenched jacket, she dropped into her beanbag chair and sighed.

"What am I gonna do?" she said out loud, her gaze attracted to the newspaper clipping taped to the wall. The photograph that had been published in the Townsville Times was the most epic yet, depicting Buttercup and her sisters smashing into the middle of a hideous monster's stomach in a glorious burst of pink, blue, and green. Suddenly she felt a wave of longing for her sisters – Blossom, so smart and witty; Bubbles, sugary sweet and caring to the core. Surely either of them would have had this situation under control by now – Blossom, with her intelligence and savvy, would have either cured Butch or have found a place for him to stay; Bubbles, with her kindness and love for all creatures, would have taken longer, but the way she handled the sick was so sweet that they barely felt sick at all.

And Buttercup? Well, she was the "tough one". Nobody for miles around would come to _her_ if they needed healing.

She shook her head and got off the couch, the bottle of cherry cough syrup bouncing around in her jeans pocket. Right... Butch needed his medication.

The door to his room was half-open. "Hey," Buttercup called through the crack. "It's me."

No response.

"I hope you're awake, 'cause I need you to take your medicine so I can get rid of you sooner."

The room was silent.

Rolling her eyes, Buttercup shoved open the door. "Geez. Nobody ever told me sick people slept so much –" And then she stopped short, the bottle of cough syrup slipping from her hand and leaking a bloodred puddle on the carpet.

Butch was lying on the floor, sprawled near the door, his face pale and his eyes closed. From his slightly open mouth a thin stream of red trickled forth. All of a sudden, Buttercup felt dizziness wash over her as she stared at the fallen figure on the floor.

"Butch?" she whispered, dropping to her knees beside him. "Butch, get up."

The boy remained limp.

"Not buying it," she said, her voice weak. "Get up, you hustler."

When he didn't move, Buttercup felt her world tilt and spin. No. No, this couldn't happen. Had she done this? Was this her fault? He wasn't dead, because she could hear his faint, wheezing breath – but was he nearly dead?

Had _she_ done this?

"Butch! Butch, get up! Please!" she begged, shaking his shoulder. Still no response. Buttercup leaped to her feet, only one this running through her mind – _I have to get help._

As she raced from the room, Butch's pale face shimmered before her eyes like a scene from a horror movie – only this was real.

P*P*G

It's not every day a flying girl with wild green eyes brings her deathly sick counterpart slung over her shoulder into the hospital demanding treatment RIGHT NOW or else she'll kill the lot of them.

Doctors and nurses scrambled to fulfill the Green Puff's wishes, loading Butch onto a stretcher and wheeling him away after instructing Buttercup to sit in the waiting room. That left a slightly stunned Buttercup to sit quietly among the patients and feel the cold claws of guilt clutch at her. This couldn't have been her fault – could it? Had she overdosed Butch on medicine? Or maybe it was the other way around... had she not given him enough care?

She remembered carelessly measuring the syrupy red medicine, how she hadn't made things at least a little comfortable for him, and how she acted as if she hated and didn't care – wait a moment. She did hate him, right? She wasn't supposed to care... right?

Trembling, she turned her head and gazed out the window. Icy sheets of rain shimmered as they pelted the hospital windows. Tiny droplets, hundreds of them, reflected Buttercup's face so that she found herself staring into her own eyes. They were anxious – no, more than anxious. Terrified. Confused. Angry. Guilty.

"Miss Utonium?" the soft voice of a nurse lured Buttercup out of her trance. "May I speak with you?" She led the silent teen into a small office, where she closed the door and motioned for Buttercup to sit down.

"I can't pay," Buttercup said right off the bat.

"That's all right," the nurse said. She was young, with hair almost as red as Blossom's, and eyes as blue as Bubbles's. The name tag pinned to her white blouse read "Amy" in block letters. At least her name doesn't start with B, Buttercup thought as she once again felt a pang for her sisters.

"What we're concerned about is the boy you brought in," Amy said. She glanced at her clipboard. "Is he, by any chance..."

"Butch," Buttercup said flatly. "If he has a last name, I haven't heard of it."

"One of the Rowdyruff Boys?" The nurse pulled at her lip.

"Yeah. Don't worry; he's too sick to hurt you." But his brothers aren't, she realized with a shock of fear. They were prone to revenge, even when the offence was small – or even if there wasn't any offence...

Amy leaned back in her chair. "Will they take this as an offence?"

Buttercup started. "Are you psychic?"

"No. You said that out loud."

"Oh." Buttercup tugged her bangs. "It... it's hard to say," she confessed, but her mind was elsewhere. _Oh my gosh. Boomer and Brick... if they find out I took him in... they'll do something horrible, I just know it..._

Abruptly she stood up. "I have to go," she said, her voice cracking. "See you."

As she bolted down the hall, Amy stuck her head outside the office. "Hey, wait!" she called. "We still need more information – come back!"

"Call me tomorrow!" Buttercup tossed the words over her shoulder as she ran. She needed help. Big help. But who...?

Blossom. She was the only one who could pull her out of this mess. Blossom was the only one who could determine whether or not she'd made herself subject to Brick and Boomer's wrath. Blossom would help. She _had_ to help.

But as Buttercup glanced over her shoulder, she saw Amy the nurse staring after with a cold glint in her blue eyes. The glint told her that she – in Butch – had a whole mountain of trouble waiting ahead of them.

She raced for home.

***CUTTT***

**Ohoho, I'm so evil... :) **

**I made you wait two hundred million years for a CLIFFHANGER! Bwahahahaaa!**

**Ahem. Many, many thanks to all my beloved reviewers who haven't flamed me yet for taking forever on updates. You guys rule. :)**

**A little note: I hope I didn't make the first few chapters... ah, misaligned with my plot. :( Tell me if I put waaay to much sugar on the first part of this story. And by the way, I have the whole plotline for my story written out entirely, so updates will most likely be faster! Yay!**

**Okay, tell me what you think. Constructive criticism is MUCH appreciated.**

**Peace, love, and pancakes,**

**Silverbells the evil :D**


	6. Phones Are Wonderful Things

"**What Silverbellsb Saw When She Posted Her Last Chapter of CCS" – a play, directed by yours truly**

***Silverbells turns on her computer and checks her inbox to see the wonderful reviews she has received from beloved readers***

***jawdrop***

**Over... ni-ninety-nine reviews? :O**

**OMG YOU GUYS ARE THE BEST! :D 3**

***Silverbells falls in a dead faint on the floor***

***Silverbells revives and dances a jig around her bedroom***

**Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU! My first 100-reviews landmark met! I cannot describe how amazing you all are... thank you!**

**So this chapter is kinda short, but in my defense it's actually kind of good. :D Finally, Bubbles and Blossom get some screen time! Those two are just loads of fun to write. I typed this all up within an hour, I was so inspired. :D Okay, hope you enjoy this chapter. See ya at the bottom of the page.**

***AKSHUNN***

Buttercup made it home in two minutes flat. Without bothering to take off her shoes or coat, she thundered up the stairs and then spent the next five minutes looking for her phone. "Where are you? Where are you?" she yelled as she tossed pillows, clothing, and other objects all over the place. No way was she using the cordless phone downstairs – the chances of someone else listening in were way too high. At last she found her phone, lying serenely on her bedside table in plain view. Cursing under her breath, Buttercup hit Blossom's speed dial number and waited.

"Hello?"

That voice! Never in all her life had Buttercup been so grateful to technology. "Blossom! It's me."

Blossom sounded as if she had stuck a pen in her mouth, which she did fairly often. "Yeah, I figured. So, why are you calling me now, when it's the middle of my working schedule, two hours before my third debate?"

"What! But it's only five in the evening!"

"Yeah, and here it's eight at night, which you should well know since you studied time zones in kindergarten." Blossom must have pulled the pen out of her mouth since she was talking clearly again. "Whatever you have to tell me, make it fast. There are twenty other kids here who want first prize, and there is no way I'm coming home saying some other nerd half my age got it."

Buttercup snorted indignantly. "I can't imagine why you're so freaked out. You're already the best at arguing. But Blossom," she said, more urgently this time. "There's something... I need to tell you about."

Blossom must have sensed the wobble in Buttercup's voice, because her tone suddenly became much softer. "What's up?"

Buttercup took a deep breath. Then she told her sister everything – from the day she found Butch lying in the rain with a cough to her trip to the hospital, leaving out no detail, conversation, or event. Well, she told her everything except the way she'd described Blossom and Bubbles to Butch – those compliments would certainly make Blossom's head inflate to the size of a beach ball. Blossom herself didn't say anything, except for "go on" whenever Buttercup hesitated. When the Green Puff had finished talking, she held her breath and waited for her sister's response.

For a while, all she heard was static. "Blossom?"

"I'm still here." Blossom's voice wasn't angry, but she didn't sound all that happy, either. "You brought a Ruff into our _house_? And you kept him there for _how_ long?"

"A few days," Buttercup said, nervousness settling into her stomach. "Blossom... he was sick. He needed help. Isn't that your policy – helping whoever needs it?"

"I know," Blossom sighed. "But Buttercup... did you ever consider that this whole thing might have been a setup?"

"You mean to say the Boys deliberately planted a sick Butch where I would find him, hoping I would take him in, so that when he got better, he could kill me?" Buttercup snorted, but doubt slowly crept into her mind. "Don't be ridiculous. How would they know where exactly I would be walking?"

"Maybe it wasn't meant for you in particular," Blossom reasoned. "One of their games, probably, playing hookey with some old guy's nerves."

"And he seemed sick to me, with a temperature and everything," Buttercup went on. "If they wanted to get rid of me so fast, they might have had him fake being sick instead."

"They might have wanted you to trust him." Blossom sounded as though she were chewing on a pen. "Fool the mind, and the battle is yours."

That hit Buttercup hard. Could Butch have just been... toying with her?

Blossom must have guessed what her sister was thinking. "Then again, the Boys aren't all that into planning and plotting," she comforted. "Who knows?"

"To be honest, I have no clue what he wanted," Buttercup said, pushing all thoughts of plotting and planning out of her mind.

"Funny, though, that according to him, his brothers kicked him out," Blossom mused. "You'd think they'd realize that they're considerably weakened without one member." She chewed thoughtfully on her pen for a while. "I'm ringing in Bubbles," she decided suddenly.

"What? Why?" The last thing Buttercup wanted was her ditzy sister's sympathies.

"She's a Powerpuff, too, Buttercup," Blossom shot back. "She deserves to know everything." A bunch of beeps sounded, followed by Bubbles's sleepy voice.

"Sure, wake me up in the middle of the night..." she yawned. "Hello? Who's there?"

It seemed as though ages had passed since Buttercup had last heard her sisters' voices. "Hey, Bubbles."

"Buttercup?" Bubbles sounded grumpy. "Is that you?"

"I'm here, too," Blossom chirped. When the Blue Puff failed to respond, Blossom said, "Bubbles? Are you there?"

A snore was the response. Buttercup snorted. Blossom, on the other hand, was not amused. "BUBBLES! It's only eight at night for you, for Pete's sake! Why are you asleep?"

Bubbles yawned. "Sorry," she said. "It's just that Robin and I stayed up all night last night helping search for some Maya skeletons and someone's Android, and we didn't get a chance to sleep for the rest of the day, so can you call back later?"

"No way," Blossom said. "We have to talk – it's urgent. Put some water on your face or something."

"Fine," Bubbles grumbled. Buttercup could hear her putting her phone down, and in the background she heard Bubbles complaining. "Yes, I do love being woken up in the middle of the night for no reason," she grumbled. "That's right, folks. I'm here to answer the call of duty whatever time of day... I'm a superhero, so I don't need rest... humph!" This was followed by spluttering as Bubbles presumably splashed her face with water. A moment later, she picked up her phone again.

"I don't have a whole lot of minutes left on my phone, so can we make it quick?" Bubbles still sounded half-asleep.

"Fair enough. Buttercup, tell her everything."

Buttercup did so. Once she had finished, Bubbles sighed happily.

"That was so romantic," she said dreamily.

Buttercup opened her mouth, intent on screaming bloody murder in Bubbles's ear, but Blossom beat her to it. "Not now, Bubbles," she said. "The point is, we just thought you should know in case you get called back here immediately..."

"For what?"

"In case there's some kind of fight," Blossom responded. "We don't know how Brick and Boomer will respond to this, and most likely Buttercup will be target for any anger."

"Thanks, guys." Buttercup felt exhausted from all the stress.

"So, am I good to go?" Bubbles didn't sound quite as sleepy as before.

"For now," Buttercup said.

Bubbles giggled. "Okay, then. Good luck with your love life, Buttercup." She hung up before she could hear Buttercup's wrath. It was Blossom who caught the full force of Buttercup's outburst.

"Are you quite through?" Blossom was definitely rolling her eyes. "I'll try to think about this more later. Chill for a little bit, BC. I'll call back later, after my debates. Maybe I'll come home early if I need to. Just don't tell the Professor, okay? I don't want him to worry."

"Totally," Buttercup said. "Listen, I think I'll go sleep for a while. I'm sacked."

"'Kay," Blossom said. Already she had shoved the pen back in her mouth. "Call me if anything comes up."

Buttercup turned off her phone. All of a sudden, she felt tired to the core. She dropped onto her bed, shoes, coat, and all, where she sank into a deep and dreamless sleep.

***CUTTT***

**Just a side note: in case anybody is wondering about the time zones thing, I mentioned in the first chapter that Blossom is in Washington D.C. and Bubbles is in Belize. In my mind, Townsville is located in California, in which case Buttercup's clock would be three hours ahead of her sisters'. :)**

**As always, review if you liked this and please tell me how to improve. **

**Peace, love, and cupcakes,**

**Silverbells **


	7. Alex the Gangsta

**Hello!**

**So, yeah, I know what you're thinking. Really, Silverbells? Really? I've been putting such LONG GAPS between my chapters... ugh. So, so, so sorry about that! I can't promise a shorter wait for my next chapter –**

***gets hit by tomatoes* **

**- but I **_**will **_**try to make them longer. (Yum, tomato...) **

**This chapter's going to be a little short, though... :(**

***gets hit by potatoes***

**Yow! I know, I know... but I hope you still love me! :) And thank you SO MUCH for your sweetie-potato comments! I love you guys! *blows cyber-kisses***

**Also, I'd appreciate if I could get constructive feedback too, 'cause I like to know my mistakes. And by the way, I got a review correcting me on my mistake in the previous chapter. Thank you for catching that mistake! :-} Buttercup's clock is three hours BEHIND her sisters', not the other way around. Silly me... .**

**Anywhoo, I hope y'all enjoy this chapter!**

**P*P*G**

Buttercup woke up to a brilliant flash of lightning and the crashing roar of thunder. The drizzle that had been going on for the past few days had morphed into one heck of a storm. As she sat up in her bed, another bolt of lightning flared with a burst of blinding light. Buttercup's lamp, computer screen, and overhead lights all flickered and went dark. Darn.

She slithered out of bed, her mind foggy. A whirlwind of incoherent thoughts passed through her head. _Blossom... Bubbles... Android... debate... hospital... Butch... Rowdyruff... oh my gosh. Rowdyruff Boys._

At one Buttercup snapped back to her senses. How could she have been so stupid, staying put like Blossom had told her? The longer she waited, the more chance Brick and Boomer would realize Butch had been gone for too long. She had to do something... _now!_

She burst through the door, but was stopped right in her tracks by an icy torrent of rain, pelting her skin like frozen knives. She shook the clammy chill away and bolted into the street. Miraculously, no cars were in sight, and she was able to run all the way to Main Street without being slowed down.

Buttercup knew where the boys lived. She'd found the place by accident while she had been chasing a runaway sheet of homework. In the back alleys of Townsville, a maze of blackened brick walls covered with graffiti, where not even the homeless people sought refuge, there was an old warehouse. It was abandoned long ago, and in the more recent months rumors had begun flying around. The place was haunted, people said, because on more than one occasion raucous, hollow laughter had been heard through the warehouse's crumbling walls.

While it was true there was a strange presence in the warehouse, it was not ghosts. Buttercup had seen 'Ruffs going in and out of the old place before. She assumed they were still living there now.

Due to a series of unfortunate incidents earlier in their lives, the Powerpuff Girls were restricted from using their powers UNLESS there was an emergency. Since Buttercup was, in fact, an obedient teen at heart, and because she didn't want any 'Ruffs catching sight of her, she didn't fly up and search for the warehouse. Instead, she captured herself a guide.

She went after one of the homeless girls who made their home in the alleys. The girl she chose was slender and dark-skinned, with red highlights in her short black hair and at least ten piercings – three rings in each ear, a stud in her nose, her eyebrow, her chin, and her lip – and, if Buttercup wasn't mistaken, there was also a bloodred jewel glittering on the girl's tongue. Buttercup saw it when she tackled the girl and pinned her to the ground.

"Let go of me!" The girl writhed on the concrete, her eyes flashing. She tried to kick Buttercup in the ribs, but the Puff barely blinked.

"Quit trying to get away and I'll let go of you," she said, holding the girl's arms in place above her head.

If looks could kill, the ultimate wrath in the teen's eyes would have eliminated Buttercup on the spot. But she stopped struggling, and the Green Puff cautiously released her. She sat up, glowering and sucking her knuckles where they'd been scraped on the asphalt.

"What the (bleep) was that for?" she snarled. Her black jeans had a few more rips and tears than it'd had before the attack, Buttercup noticed. The same went for the girl's scarlet tank top.

"Well?" the girl snapped. "Are you going to just stand there staring like a retard, or are you going to tell me why you jumped me like that?"

Buttercup fixed the girl with her best gaze of steel. "In a sec," she said, and she was surprised by how calm her voice sounded. "First tell me your name."

The girl averted Buttercup's stare. "Alex," she muttered.

"Alex. Cool. Do you know the way to the old warehouse?"

Alex squinted through the hair that fell into her face. Something in her demeanor changed suddenly; her voice was tight and controlled, and her eyes flashed with an emotion Buttercup couldn't catch. "And what if I do?"

"I need to get there," Buttercup said. "Fast. If you showed me the way, I'd pay you."

Alex ran her slender fingers along her jaw, as though feeling for something that didn't exist. Her dark skin glowed in the dim light of the alleyways. She said nothing.

"I don't have a lot," Buttercup said quickly, "but if you want something I have on me right now, I'll give it to you."

Alex's eyes remained expressionless, and when she spoke, she did so slowly and deliberately. "Suppose I wanted to take you to the ware-place," she said. "How much cash would I get?"

Buttercup checked her pockets. The only monetary value she carried with her at the moment was twelve dollars and fifty-three cents. Three of the twelve dollars was in loose change. She hoped it would do. She held out the money in her hands.

"This much," she said.

"And everything else you got in your pockets," Alex added.

"Everything but my house keys."

"And if anything happens, you never knew me and we never spoke."

Buttercup held her head high. "Not a word."

Alex's eyes gleamed like twin black pebbles.

"Deal."

**P*P*G**

Buttercup ended up forking over a wealth of small treasures: a small silver chain necklace, three rubber bands, a Tootsie roll, two of Bubbles's hairclips, a half-empty pack of gum, a lovely pocket knife, five bobby pins, a dead beetle, two rolls of ChapStick, and a ball of lint.

"What would you want _that _for?" Buttercup snapped, annoyed by Alex's demanding nature.

Alex took the lint and, after flashing Buttercup a wicked grin, popped it in her mouth. Buttercup stared as she chewed for a moment and then swallowed.

"Tasty," Alex said, picking her teeth with one of the bobby pins. "Now let's move, if you want to find the ware-place soon."

Buttercup rolled her eyes. "I've done better," she said with an exaggerated yawn. All the same, she followed Alex through a maze of graffiti-splattered alleyways. She wasn't sure how long they walked – it felt like hours to her, at least. Each corridor, each pathway, and each tunnel looked exactly the same to her, yet Alex never hesitated in the least while navigating. Without meaning to, Buttercup felt impressed – and also, she felt a little sorry for her. This girl, despite her tattoos and piercings, had been left alone to live in the streets. Perhaps she took up this tough-girl attitude because, beneath it all, she was afraid? Was she lonely?

Was this what Butch felt like?

"Here we are." Alex's rough voice cut into Buttercup's thoughts. They were facing an enormous chain-link fence. Behind it, a coal-black warehouse stood tall and silent, its twin smokestacks brushing the dark sky. Buttercup took in a breath. This was it.

Alex pointed to a few leafless shrubs near the fence. "Behind the branches there's a hole. Just push them out of the way to find it. It should be big enough for you to fit through." She eyed Buttercup. "If you're a coward, the grass should cover you until you get to the door."

"Thanks," Buttercup said.

Alex hesitated before leaving, and something in her face changed as she glanced up at the warehouse. "Be careful," she said, and her voice was not quite as rough as it had been a moment ago. "I hear that if you go in that place, you'll never come out the same."

"I will," Buttercup said. "And... thanks."

Alex didn't smile as she left, but Buttercup noticed that her eyes were no longer flat and lifeless. They were bright with fear. And that was when Buttercup saw the scar, long and deep, running across Alex's lower jaw. It had been covered by the girl's dark hair, which was why Buttercup hadn't seen it before. She knew at once who the scar must have come from.

Buttercup looked back up at the warehouse. Its door was slightly open, like it had been expecting her arrival. Wind suddenly powered through the trees, and the entire warehouse groaned slightly. And then suddenly –

Laugher; hollow, raucous laughter, bursting out from within the warehouse. Buttercup was so startled that she nearly fell over backwards, her heart pounding. The Rowdyruffs were home.

She nearly backed away. She nearly ran, out of fear for herself and for her sisters. But then she stopped. What good would running do? She hadn't forked over twelve and a half bucks and a pocketful of junk just to chicken out and run away.

She turned back towards the fence, pushed aside the shrubs, and crawled through the hole.

**P*P*G**

**Dear, dear Buttercup. Looking before you leap has never been your strong suit, has it? ^.^ **

**More later!**

***~*Silverbells*~***


	8. The Warehouse and What Lay Within

**Aaaaand, Silverbells is BACK! **

***waves wildly to the crowds and crowds of adoring fans***

**Thank you, thank you. *modest bow* You're too kind.**

**No, seriously. Thanks, folks, for your brilliant and lovely reviews. You make me smile! And yesssss, I'm back with another installment of Cherry Cough Syrup. I knowwww, it's been forever, but hey! At least I'm back! *awkward pause*  
**

**Ahem... er. Well! Hope you enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing!**

**P*P*G**

The inside of the warehouse appeared to come straight out of a historical fiction novel. The floor was splattered with oil stains and littered with dead leaves and shards of green glass. Stacks upon sloppy stacks of wooden crates practically falling apart with age created a maze of passageways. The entire room was covered layers upon layers of dust. At the sound of Buttercup's footsteps, a small black spider scuttled into the shadows.

Buttercup shuddered; even at fourteen, she still hadn't completely overcome her fear of arachnids. She glanced around, unsure of where to go. A couple of doors were positioned at the far side of the room, but they were blocked by crates and definitely weren't used often. She shivered as she eyed her surroundings. Anyone could be hiding behind the crates... her eyes strayed to the way out, the gaping hole in the wall that used to be the main door.

_No, _she told herself fiercely. She was not going to run away. Not now. She had to find Brick and Boomer, tell them they had to get their sorry brother out of her life... she stopped. Was that really such a great plan?

_No, it's stupid, _the angry voice of reason inside her head snarled. _S-T-U-P-I-D. Why would the boys care, anyway? They're heartless. They were born that way. And speaking of heartless, you know what you really need to find out? Whether Butch was actually sick or if he was just planted there on the sidewalk that day. If he was really in on a plot to gain your trust and kill you. _

Buttercup's hands balled into fists. The words circled through her head. _If he was really in on a plot to gain your trust and kill you. _Cold and mechanical, she eyed the maze of boxes around her. In the corner of the room, she spied a staircase, made of rusted black metal, spiraling up to a second floor. She moved towards it.

Suddenly she heard the laughter again, the hollow laughter that chilled her through and through. It was coming from the top of the stairs for sure.

She grasped the railing for support and began to climb.

P*P*G

The stairs led to a long, empty corridor. At least, Buttercup thought it was empty. It was hard to tell, since it led off into pitch darkness. She fidgeted and glanced at her watch – quarter to seven. Her curfew demanded that she be home by eight –

_Nobody's home, stupid, _the voice in her head snapped. She straightened her shoulders. Right. She could stay out all night if she wanted to, and nobody would be home to scold her. She hesitated for a split second before making her way down the corridor and into the darkness.

Buttercup kept her hand along the wall, her movements slow and deliberate. She could hear voices now, faint and garbled, but there all the same. And then she saw the faint glimmer of light from one of the doorways.

She dropped to her knees and pressed against the door. She could hear the voices more clearly now, and they definitely belonged to the Rowdyruff Boys. She braced herself and quietly pushed the door open.

The room was dimly lit by cheap florescent lights, the kind one might find in some moldy supermarket. It was empty of people, but it was littered with junk. Crushed soda cans, empty bags of chips, electronics with the wires coming out, an old television with a smashed screen. Buttercup stared in disgust. She herself was often messy, but walking on a carpet of half-eaten food? Seriously?

In the far corner of the room was yet another staircase, this one leading down. She could hear some cheap video game music coming from the general area as well as the voices from earlier. She grimaced, and as quietly as possible, tiptoed through the sea of Rowdyruff crud and down the stairs. She could hear what the voices were saying now, as she descended down into the darkness.

"Loser! You idiot! You made me die!"

"I'm not even close to you!"

"Shut it. I can't concentrate with you talking so much."

"I barely said anything," was the mumbled response.

"I said shut it!"

Buttercup's hands closed into fists. She recognized the voices for sure. Brick and Boomer, the two remaining Rowdyruff boys. No doubt Brick was the idiot on the video game. Whatever kind, smart, caring, leadership qualities Blossom had, Brick matched with his own brawn, brainlessness, sadist, stupid unruliness.

Buttercup inched down the stairs and crouched near the railing. She was looking down on a small, dark room lit only by a monster television. It cast its synthetic light upon an aged sofa which had springs popping out of the stuffing. A boy her age sat sprawled on the middle seat. A shock of red hair stuck out from the front and back of his crimson cap. He was dressed in ragged red clothing – a red tee, red sneakers that looked like something an NBA player would wear, and dirty red jeans that were ripped at the knee. He was staring at the T.V. with murder in his eyes. His fingers flew across the controller he clutched in his hands.

"Auuuuugh!" a man on the T.V. screamed. Buttercup watched with distaste as he fell forward, full of bullet holes.

"YES!" Brick roared, punching the air. Buttercup averted her eyes, disgusted. Her gaze fell upon the other boy, who was so different from Brick that if she hadn't known better, she would never in a million years have labeled them brothers.

Boomer sat with his back to the wall, his knees drawn up and his arms wrapped around himself. Buttercup studied him. _He_ certainly didn't look rough and tough. Not like Butch _or_ Brick. He wore clothing that looked like Brick's, only cleaner – a nice blue tee and jeans that were definitely not falling down like his brother's. She couldn't see his face – his shaggy blonde bangs were falling into his eyes. But she could see his mouth – it was a tight line, the mouth of someone who's feeling sad and trying not to show it. As Buttercup watched, fascinated, Boomer lifted his head. His eye was encircled by a dark, purple-blue bruise.

Horrified, Buttercup looked from blonde to redhead and back again. Boomer... Brick hadn't... why would he do such a thing...?

"Hey, you." Brick snapped his fingers at Boomer, who slowly raised his head.

"What?" he muttered.

"Give me some batteries. This thing's almost dead." He shook his controller.

Wordlessly Boomer reached into his pocket and handed two batteries to Brick. The redhead took them without a second glance at his brother, and his game started up again. Boomer sighed and returned to rocking slowly back and forth in his corner.

"Now you'll be picking on me till Butch gets back?" he murmured, but not quietly enough. Brick's video game paused.

"What?" He twisted around like a snake to look at the blonde, who now had regret rising in his dark blue eyes.

Boomer hesitated before blurting, "Quit talking to me like I'm your slave."

Brick had a pleasant smile on his face, but his eyes were cold. He slowly stood from the couch. "You want me to stop?"

Boomer looked at his feet and cleared his throat, suddenly meek again. "I just – well, I mean, you'll stop when Butch gets back, right? I-I mean..."

Brick sneered, taking a step forward. "Ooh, look who's turning into a girly wimp now."

"I'm not a –" Boomer broke off when Brick grabbed his collar.

"Listen," he snarled, "Butch is _gone_. Done. _Finished_. He betrayed the Rowdyruff Boys. He went and turned _soft_ on us."

Boomer's voice was barely a whisper. "He stopped the alley gangs from hurting people, that's all."

Brick snorted. "That's all? What do you mean, that's all?" He jerked Boomer's collar until the pale, blue-eyed boy looked up. "Listen closely, unless you want another bruiser to match your other eye." Boomer winced. "Don't mention Mr. Loverboy again. You saw him. He dumped us because he wanted to impress a girl. And not just any girl, a Powerpuff Girl!" Brick's face contorted with rage. "Ooh, Buttercup this. Ooh, Buttercup that."

For the girl hiding in the shadows of the staircase, this was an absolute nightmare. She rubbed her eyes, shook her head wildly. She even pinched herself. But Brick's words still rang clear in her head. _Butch... likes _me?

Boomer's voice wobbled slightly. "But we didn't have to throw him out in the rain."

"Don't tell me you're going soft on me, too. Who is it this time, hmm? Bubbles?"

Buttercup clenched her teeth; Boomer's face turned red. "N-no! N-nothing like t-that! I just think that... well... the Antidote X. Without it, he'll get even sicker. Especially in the rain."

Buttercup's jaw dropped. She felt herself trembling. _This is too much. Boomer stands up to Brick, Butch likes... me... and now he's got no superpowers? No wonder..._

"Listen! I don't care what you think! You're not important! I make decisions around here, and if you don't like it, you can either shut your blubbering mouth or get out of my face." Brick abruptly released Boomer's collar and strode over to the couch.

Boomer's lip trembled, but then he pulled himself together and pressed his mouth in a thin line. "Maybe I should get out of your face then," he murmured, but Brick didn't seem to notice.

"By the way," the redhead hissed as he took up his game controller again, "Did I mention? If I ever catch you chasing after a Powerpuff, you're dead. That Buttercup is nothing but a boy wannabe, and I think you know what I mean by that. Your sweet little Bubbles is a complete and total idiot. A good-for-nothing crybaby. And Blossom should break her neck. That'd get her out of my hair." He settled down and began flipping through the T.V. channels.

Something snapped in Buttercup then. She didn't mind being called a boy wannabe – coming from Brick, that was a pathetic insult. But to hear him say horrible things about Bubbles and Blossom – oh, it was worse than bad. Buttercup felt her hands clench into fists. Her eyes flared, and before she knew what she was doing she swooped down and smashed into Brick, making sure his face was in the dirt.

Boomer gasped, and Brick twisted like a snake. "Hey! What the **[bleep]**? Get the **[bleep]** off of me, you **[bleep bleep bleep]**!"

Buttercup kneed him in the ribs and proceeded to twist his head around to face her. "You can't talk about my sisters that way! Take it back NOW!"

"BUTTERCUP!" Brick roared, flinging the girl off his back. She hit the floor with a painful thud and rolled out of the way just as Brick shot a pair of laser eyebeams her way. Boomer seemed to be in a sort of trance. He just stared at Buttercup as though he was trying to remember where he'd seen her before.

"Buttercup," he said flatly, just as Brick slammed into her.

Buttercup didn't have time to think about Boomer. She gave the fight her all, with full-fledged kicks, punches, hair-pulling, biting, and headlocks. But try as she might, she just didn't have the testosterone-induced stamina Brick possessed.

"Give up?" Brick taunted as Buttercup landed hard, one arm twisted behind her back.

"Not on your life!" she responded with a kick to the chin.

"BOOMER!" Brick shouted. "Get your sorry **[bleep]** over here and HELP ME!"

Buttercup glanced in the blond boy's direction. His face was expressionless, tired, and his arms were limp at his sides. For a moment she thought she might be able to sway him into her side.

"Boomer," she called softly. "Help _me._"

Her voice seemed to rouse him out of a trance. For a moment, blue and green eyes locked. Then suddenly the helpless blonde vanished, and in his place was a stony-faced minion who flew towards her and slammed his foot into her back.

Buttercup's shock was greater than her pain. The last thing she saw before the world faded to black was Boomer's eyes. They were hollow and empty.

The eyes of a tormented beast.

**P*P*G**

**Oo-la-la! Did I scare you with my new violent writing style?**

***crickets chirp***

**No, I didn't think so... :(**

**You've noticed that in this chapter Brick has a bad habit of spewing profanity. I wanted that element for his character, but I don't like using so much profanity especially since I was trained not to use it in daily life. Soooo... hence the bleeps! Feel free to fill in the blank with the cuss word of your choice. :D**

**Mmkay, I know you guys were hoping for romance in future chapters. It's coming, I promise... but I need some help. Does anyone have suggestions for romantic scenes I can slip in here and there? Nothing TOO romantic, though! I don't do tounge-battles. :P But anything other than that would ROCK! ;-***

**ONE MORE REQUEST! Is there a possibility of anyone doing fanart for this story? Heh. I'd do it myself, but that wouldn't be FANART... maybe sometime I'll post illustrations on deviantART or whatever. :D**

**And that's it for the author's note! See you on the flip side!**

**~ Silverbells**


	9. Imprisoned

**Well, needless to say, I beg your forgiveness for the endless wait. :P Before I start the chapter though, I'd like to thank Enjoyer of Humor for PMing me with a whole bunch of wonderful ideas. :) I worked some of them into this chapter – I hope it's close to what you had in mind! :D**

**As always, THANK YOU for the lovely reviews! You all make my day. **

**This chapter is dedicated to Enjoyer of Humor in particular (for the ideas, you see) but I was hoping I could do something for all you guys. Is there an original character you have that I could work into the story? If you send me the description, I'll see if I can make it work. (Superhumans won't really work, but if you have some normal humans, I'll add them on Blossom's debate team.) ^.^**

**Okay, that's all for now. Hope you all enjoy!**

**P*P*G**

Boomer felt the sickening feeling in his stomach the moment he kicked her. It was the same feeling he used to get all the time, after he'd seen his brothers tormenting the homeless or spraying swearwords onto neighborhood homes by night. That feeling had been more than guilt. It was physical pain, and it made him want to be sick, or bang his head on the floor, or do anything that would knock some kind of sense into his head.

He was feeling it again right now. It was a hot, dizzying sensation that exploded in his stomach like someone's fist.

He shut his eyes and tried to fall asleep, but broken and distorted images kept racing through his mind – Butch being tossed into the thunderstorm like scrap paper; Brick's murderous expression; his own reflection in the bathroom mirror, his eye swollen purple-blue and his nose bleeding; the green-eyed girl who was currently imprisoned in the cellar...

Boomer's eyes snapped open again as a wave of emotion swallowed him again. It felt an awful lot like despair. He rolled off the sofa, which had springs poking out of the seats, and glanced across the room. Brick hadn't stirred from his sloppy position on the opposite couch. Boomer slipped out the door.

The moon was full, shining through the cracks and chunks missing from the roof. His own footsteps sounded too loud for comfort as he shuffled along, between the towers of crates that formed a sort of hallway. He moved along two flights of stairs, descending further and further down, until the only thing that lit his way was the faint, greenish glow that seeped from the crack beneath the lone door in the cellar.

Boomer hesitated. So she wasn't asleep, either. For a moment, he considered flight; if he were to be honest with himself, he feared the prisoner more than he feared his own brother. But the sick feeling returned, churning his insides, and that was the only thing that compelled him to open the door.

She looked up the moment he entered and hissed. Her hair was tousled and messy, and a fantastic bruise was forming on her forehead. She was crouched in a corner, rolling a handful of green sparks between her fingers. She was shivering, still drenched from the storm outside. Her eyes burned bright with hatred as she stared at him.

Boomer mustered up his best impression of Brick's bad-boy attitude. "So, you haven't left yet?"

The expression twisting her face was one of utter loathing. "I _can't_, idiot." She spat the words at him. "There's some kind of force field around this room. I can't get close to the door without being burned, brainless." She flashed the back of her hand at him. There was a long scorch mark trailing from her knuckles to her wrist. "But you wouldn't care, would you?" Her anger was worse than Brick's. "I don't know why I called you for help. You Rowdyruff Boys are all the same. Just when you show them some sympathy, they turn on you. You awful – you _evil_ –" she searched fruitlessly for a bad enough word before sputtering into an icy silence.

Boomer felt the empty feeling consuming him. His tongue seemed too limp to form words. She was right, all of it was right... he was no better than his brothers. He felt he should apologize, but even now, admitting remorse was not something that came easily. Instead, he said, "I guess. Are you hungry?"

She seemed taken aback for a moment before her sneer returned. "Even if I was, I wouldn't touch whatever you have. Who do you rob to get your food? The Morbucks? Or do you take from the shelter?"

Wordlessly, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a few peppermints and a pack of vending machine cookies. He tossed them to her, and the packages skittered across the floor and stopped in her corner. Once again, he saw surprise melt her fierce demeanor before she scowled again.

"You call this food?" she snarled, but she unwrapped a peppermint anyway. "Sit," she ordered. He sat. "How long have you lived here?"

"Dunno. Months. Maybe a year now."

"Anybody come in here often? Trespassers?"

Boomer remembered the last group of kids who had broken into Brick's territory. He winced. "Not since the street gang last month." He pushed the images out of his mind – the falling boy, the girl hit by the shard of glass, right along her jaw –

"Get me out."

"What?"

"Get. Me. Out. Of. This. Place," she drawled, her eyes steely. "What? You thought I'd _want _to stay here?" She tossed her bangs. "Not a chance, kid. I have places to be. People to kill. Hospital patients to destroy –" She stopped abruptly and crunched her peppermint loudly.

"What hospital patients?"

"Forget it," she snapped. "Forget I said anything –" Her expression was a mixture of defiance and guilt.

"Don't you think killing hospital patients is... against the _law_?" Boomer said innocently.

Her eyes flashed. "This one's a special case."

"Let me guess. He beat you once, and now you're out for revenge, and you're the one who landed him in the hospital in the first place –" Boomer was making all of this up as he went, and so was utterly bewildered when she leaped to her feet, her expression burning.

"Look, I did the best I could!" she cried. The green sparks flew from her hand and crackled in the air, leaving behind an acrid, burnt smell. "He's so stupid, he was lying out on public property like an idiot instead of going for help! What was I supposed to do? I couldn't just take him to the doctor – I'd look like an idiot – he's such a – he's gotten himself landed in the hospital now – _and it's not my fault he's there, it's not my fault!"_ She appeared close to breaking now. Boomer's brain was struggling to keep up with this outburst. Clearly something he'd said had agitated her – but what in the world...?

_Oh. _The name clicked in his mind like a missing puzzle piece.

"Butch," he said quietly. She glared at him through her tears.

"Figured it out yet, Einstein?"

But Boomer didn't process the insult. "You... you helped him?"

"He didn't deserve it," she snarled, apparently furious with herself. She kicked the wall, and immediately leaped back as the force field singed the rubber off her shoe. "But I couldn't leave him. He was nearly dead – I should have left him to rot out there –" _Kick. Kick. Kick. _Her shoe was smoldering now. "But if you were so worried about him, _why didn't you go out there and get him_?" Her eyes were bright again. "You're all the same. You don't care. You're monsters, all of you –"

"I couldn't!" She had hit a nerve, and Boomer got to his feet, too. "I wanted to, but I couldn't help him! You don't know what it's like, when Brick's angry – he doesn't care who he hurts – after he got rid of Butch he got started on me! A-and he never used to be this way, either... not until he –" Boomer closed his mouth and hesitated, afraid he's said too much. Buttercup seemed not to care.

"Whatever," she muttered, and rolled into a corner.

As he watched her, he felt his hand subconsciously drifting up the side of his face. The spots on his cheekbone were still tender. The cut on his forehead still bled a little if he picked at the scab. He didn't even think about his black eye. He could only imagine how grotesque his appearance must be.

Butch had looked the same after Brick had finished with him. All because of those few words. _She's not all bad. She's tough. She's smart. I'm going to talk to her, and you can't stop me..._

Boomer wondered if he should tell her that. He decided against it – the last thing he needed was another outburst. Instead he scooted closer to her.

"I'm going to help you out of here," he said.

She twitched, but didn't look at him. "Great. Make it snappy. I'm waiting."

"No," he said. "It might take some time."

"You're worthless."

He took that as his cue to leave.

**P*P*G**

Back in the TV room, Boomer looked over at Brick's snoring silhouette. He felt something ignite within him, a small spark of hatred he had kept secret for a long time. He felt the spark flare inside him, filling him with silent rage.

He'd had enough. From this moment onward, he no longer took his brother's orders, no longer bowed and sniveled at his feet. He savored his own rebellion as he picked up the battered cell phone lying on the floor, forgotten after the scuffle earlier that day...

He took the phone into the hall and flipped it open. The synthetic light burned his eyes, but he flicked through the settings until he found the button. _Contacts. Speed dial._

He relished the words he was about to speak, let them fuel the fire even more before he hit the number. _So there, Brick. You're not in charge of me. You've never been in charge of me._

"Hello?" The voice sounded as though it had been woken from a deep, deep sleep. Boomer knew the other number would have been a much better choice – he needed all the brains he could get, not to mention logic, sophistication, leadership skills – but he really, really, hadn't been able to resist.

He tried to control the rush of butterflies swarming his stomach when he spoke. "Hello, Bubbles." 

**P*P*G**

Meanwhile, Buttercup was smiling.

Using all her energy to make her own force field had been difficult, but now she felt triumphant as she admired the flickering, glowing green orb that surrounded her like a neon soap bubble. She wasn't sure if her plan would work – science-y plans were Blossom's thing – but even if it didn't, at least everyone in the building would be scared senseless by the aftermath.

She backed up a few steps, braced herself, and ran full speed right into Brick's force field. Energy combined with energy, and for a moment the whole world fell silent before the explosion.

_**BOOM!**_

Green lightning crackled, stone blew apart, rubble churned, and the very ground beneath her split open in a gaping chasm –

Buttercup herself vaulted through the air, bruised by the falling chunks of stone, blinded by the thick grey-green clouds of smoke and dust –

She landed hard on the ground, scraping both knees and palms –

Someone was running at her through the smoke –

She kicked Brick Jojo full in the stomach before he realized what hit him and landed, laughing with mirth and delight, on her feet.

"Sayonara, RowdyRump!"

**P.S.: Special thanks to my beta-person, who helped me write a LOT of this chapter. You know who you are. :)**


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